Chapter 36 Otto
OTTO
With a frustrated huff, I roll out of bed. It’s only five a.m., but I’m sick of staring at the ceiling, and I have to be up in an hour anyway. We’re flying back to Boston today, fresh off a victory against Phoenix last night.
My third-to-last game as part of the Siege. Only two matches remain before the summer break.
The team has won six of their past seven games. Assuming that streak continues when the season resumes in August, they’ll dominate, not just make, the playoffs.
I won’t be here to see it, no matter how much I want to witness the team win a much-deserved championship. I also want—need, according to my contract—to return to Kluvberg.
I’m fucking stuck.
I get dressed quickly, pulling on shorts and a Siege polo shirt.
My shoulder doesn’t twinge the entire time.
My injury has become an afterthought, not my main focus whenever I need to move my arm, waiting for pain to appear.
I will get cleared, I’m certain. Whether or not that translates when I’m in goal will be another story.
I gather my phone, wallet, and room key, shoving them all in my pockets as I head down the hallway. I’m back to running regularly—and early, thanks to the heat that has recently blanketed Boston and is even more oppressive in Arizona.
When I step out of the elevator, I start toward the automatic doors that lead outside. Glance around the lobby out of necessity, not interest, trying to remember the layout, until I spot a familiar head of hair buried in the hands of someone slumped in one of the couches.
I stride over, the flash of alarm unwelcome and unexpected. “Claire?”
She doesn’t move.
“Claire.” I sit beside her, grabbing her knee and squeezing once. “What is wrong?”
It feels like my stomach is being folded inside out as I wait for her to reply. A knot cinches tight inside my chest.
“Is your mom…”
Claire lifts and shakes her head, but the knot doesn’t loosen. “Nothing’s wrong.”
I raise a disbelieving eyebrow.
She blinks rapidly. Sniffs. “My sister’s boyfriend called me last night. He’s planning a trip for them this summer, and Josh wanted to make sure I could watch Tommy before he booked everything.”
She smiles, but it’s a sad one.
“He also asked… Josh is planning to propose on the trip. And I’m glad.
He’s great for Cassidy, and Tommy adores him, but…
everything just changed with my mom moving out and Tommy and Cassidy moving in.
Now I have to figure out what to do with the house and with—I woke up early and decided to go for a run, and I realized…
” She looks down at the carpet. “I have this token—”
“The Detroit Zoo coin?”
“I can’t believe you remember that.” Claire swallows. “Actually, I can,” she adds softly.
“What about your coin?” I ask.
“I-I can’t find it. I know it’s stupid—”
I cut her off again. “When did you last have it?”
“At the stadium before the game yesterday. It must have fallen out of my bag at some point. I searched my entire room this morning. It might be on the bus. Or…” She swallows hard.
“Left at the stadium.” She nods toward her phone, sitting on the coffee table.
“I tried calling every number I could find online, but no one’s answering this early.
I’ll try again later. If I can reach someone, maybe they’ll search for me. Mail it.”
Her voice holds no confidence.
I stand. “Or we can go look ourselves.”
“The bus leaves at eight for—”
I’m already on my phone, ordering a car.
“Otto.” She reaches for my wrist, halting my movements. “We can’t—”
I hold her gaze. “Car will be here in three minutes. I will go alone if you want to stay here.”
I mean it. I know what the coin means to Claire. She carries it during every game and not as some superstition. It represents happy memories with her dad, a way to keep him as a part of her career, even when she’s shut him out in every other way.
I stride toward the doors, looking around for the silver SUV that’s supposed to be arriving soon.
Claire hurries after me. She spends the three minutes waiting for the car and the first ten minutes of the car ride attempting to talk me into returning to the hotel and forgetting what she diminishes to a “lump of metal.”
I’ll search the entire city of Phoenix for that lump of metal, if necessary.
Fifteen minutes later, the driver drops us off at the main entrance of the stadium. It’s a flash of color amid a whole lot of beige and gray, surrounded on all sides by asphalt parking and sprawling desert. It’s also gated.
I head left, attempting to find the side entrance the team used yesterday. Reaching it requires circling half the stadium in rising heat.
One of Claire’s arguments against this trip was correct—we might miss our plane.
I texted Eliza in the car, letting her know Claire had forgotten something important at the stadium and I was accompanying her to look for it.
She responded, saying she’d try to contact the Phoenix coach and see about having someone here assist. But I have no idea if that was successful.
It’s a commercial flight. They wouldn’t delay the departure for the entire Siege team, let alone two people.
I’m preoccupied by a more pressing problem when we reach the side entrance—it’s gated too. But this opening is smaller, meaning the gate is lower. There are no spikes across the top either.
Claire sighs. “Otto, I really appreciate this. But we should go.”
“I will give you a boost, Boston.”
Her wide eyes wheel between me and the gate. “Otto…”
I raise an arm, comparing my height to the gate. “It is eight feet, at most.”
“Which is high.”
“I will catch you.”
“How?”
I wave a hand, gesturing her toward me. “Come here.”
When she does, I spin her to face the stadium, then rest my hands on her hips. Claire inhales sharply when I touch her, and I have to remind my cock that this is a rescue mission with a ticking clock.
“Reach for the top when I lift you,” I instruct. “Pull yourself up and try to sit on the top. Wait for me there.”
Suddenly, Claire starts to struggle. “Your shoulder. You can’t—this is—”
“Reach, Claire.” I heave her upward.
My shoulder doesn’t hurt, but I’m well aware this isn’t a movement any doctor or physical therapist would endorse. Just like I’m aware I’d do it if even my shoulder was bothering me.
Claire grips the bar across the top of the gate, balancing on her stomach like a gymnast.
I gauge the distance for a few more seconds, then hoist myself up too.
My muscles protest, but it’s not the searing pain in my shoulder, just general discomfort.
I don’t stop at the top, like Claire. I propel myself over, utilizing the momentum to land on the other side.
The impact ricochets up to my knees, but that’s the worst of it.
Claire’s staring down at me. “I can’t believe you just did that.”
Her tone is chastising. But there’s some awe, too, underneath the disapproval.
And impressing Claire Caldwell is one of my favorite pastimes, so I flash her a smug smile before lifting my arms. “Spin around so your legs are facing me, then start to slide down. I will catch you.”
She grimaces before complying, inching to the side until she’s facing the opposite direction. Her legs drop as she scooches backward, ass up.
Now’s not the time to ogle the curve, but I have a perfect shot up the hem of her shorts, pulled tight by the movement.
“Okay. Let go.”
I’m expecting her to need some encouragement. Claire instantly dropping is a surprise, but I’m prepared. I catch her, holding her to my body, back to front, feeling her heart pound wildly against my biceps.
“Shit,” she breathes. “That was higher than I thought.”
She feels so fucking good, pressed against me. Warmth, unrelated to the rising sun, trickles through my veins.
Proximity is underrated. I’ve missed talking to Claire. Touching her. Fucking her. But this, being near enough to hear her breathing and smell her shampoo? I missed this the most. Simply being near her.
Essentially, I’m screwed. Entirely and utterly fucked.
Because there are about to be roughly four thousand miles between us.
“Otto?”
“Sorry.” I let Claire go so fast that she stumbles before turning around. “Locker room is this way,” I say, heading in that direction.
“Is your shoulder hurting?” she asks, hurrying after me. “Because if you—”
“I am fine,” I call over my shoulder as I continue down the hallway. One, two… Five seconds later, I hear her footsteps following me.
We reach the locker room a few minutes later. The locked locker room.
I swear under my breath. Couldn’t one part of this be easy?
I’m debating the best approach to tackle this obstacle when a strange voice calls, “Hey! What are you doing?”
Claire explains the situation to the bearded security guard.
He nods. “I got a call about you. Went out front to let you in, but no one was there.”
I avoid looking at Claire. If I did damage my shoulder, that’s my problem to deal with.
“Can you let us in?” I ask, nodding toward the locked door.
“Oh. Sure.” The guard tears his eyes away from Claire’s bare legs, reaching for the jangling ring of keys hanging from his belt.
It takes him long enough to find the correct one and fit it in the lock that I contemplate breaking the door down anyway.
“You need any help looking?” he asks as Claire hurries inside, gaze on her ass now.
“We are good,” I reply sharply, stepping to block his view of her.
When I enter the locker room, Claire’s on her hands and knees, peering under a bench.
She underplayed how much this meant to her, which I already knew.
“I’ll take the left side,” I say, starting to search each cubby systematically. I go slowly, making sure to look in every possible nook and cranny.
When we meet in the middle, Claire looks defeated.
“Thanks for trying,” she says, sincerity mixing with disappointment.
I do one final scan of the room, trying to think of any other spot the coin could be. There aren’t many options. Not only is it clear of equipment, but the floor is spotless. The artificial smell of cleaner hangs in the air, and there are vacuum lines on the carpet.
Claire pulls her phone out and checks the time. “It’s seven,” she tells me. “If we hurry, we should make it back to the hotel on time.”
“One second,” I say, returning to the hallway.
The security guard is leaning against a wall, whistling between bites of a glazed doughnut.
“Who cleans on this floor?”
The security guard scrambles to straighten, nearly dropping his doughnut. “Uh… I dunno. They have a closet on each floor and rotate between—”
“Show me the closet.”
Claire’s caught up to me. “Otto, it’s fine.”
I ignore her, following the guard a few doors down the hall.
He unlocks this door and opens it, revealing a large closet.
Shelves are stacked with bottles of cleaner and other supplies, with a plastic cart parked between them.
And set on a roll of paper towels, next to a mop handle, is a coin from the Detroit Zoo.
Relief rushes through me as I grab it, turning to hand it to Claire. “Here.”
Her mouth gapes as she stares at the silver coin in my palm.
“Now, we need to go,” I say, hustling toward the nearest exit.